God Is Not Absent
We are currently living through the longest government shutdown in United States history. Some of our own church family members are unsure when they’ll see their next paycheck. Others are navigating how to feed their children without the support of SNAP. It’s complicated, heavy, and at times deeply frustrating. I find myself praying not only for resolution, but that something redemptive might emerge from all of this.
In moments like this, I’m reminded of Israel’s early history when the people insisted on having a king. For generations, Israel had no monarchy. They were a people led directly by God, guided by judges and prophets. Yet the desire to be like the surrounding nations grew stronger, and the people demanded a king. Samuel, the prophet, warned them plainly about what kings do:
“He will take your sons… he will take your daughters… he will take the best of your fields… he will take one-tenth of your grain… and you shall be his slaves… And on that day you will cry out because of your king whom you have chosen.”
—1 Samuel 8:11–18 (NRSVUE)
Still, Israel persisted. They chose the tallest, handsomest man they could find—because appearance felt like strength and legitimacy. And though there were bright moments under the monarchy, the long story is one of loss, division, exile, and heartbreak. In choosing a king, they weren’t just shifting political systems; they were shifting trust.
There is a tension today between trusting God and the church to care for one another and expecting the government to do so. We hear familiar phrases: “It’s the church’s job, not the government’s.” or “The only reason the government provides assistance is because the church failed.” I understand the impulse behind these statements, but the reality is more complex.
When Israel expected the Messiah, they looked for a political liberator—someone who would overthrow Rome and restore national sovereignty. Yet Jesus did not dismantle Roman welfare programs, nor did He campaign for new ones. He simply told His disciples to feed the hungry—and then He fed five thousand with bread and fish. Jesus showed us that provision is not either/or. It’s both/and. God works through governments, and God works through His people. Neither relieves us of compassion.
We may not be able to resolve a shutdown. But we are not powerless.
We can bring meals to families whose paychecks are paused.
We can support We Care and our weekend food ministries.
We can invite someone to dinner.
We can be present, attentive, and generous.
These are not small things. These are the things that remind a hungry world that God has not forgotten them—and neither have we.
And maybe, in a time when institutions feel uncertain and systems feel fragile, the witness of the church is this:
We love one another because Christ first loved us.
We feed one another because Christ fed us.
We show up for one another because Christ never left us.
Even in crisis, God is not absent. And neither are we.
I Want You To Want To
Nobody in our house likes to do the dishes. What makes matters worse is that my wife and I have very different philosophies about how the dishes should be done. I’ll admit, her way is probably right. But saying she’s right and actually being motivated to do it her way are two very different things.
A line from a movie came up in one of my classes this week, in the middle of an argument between a couple:
“I want you to want to do the dishes!”
“Why would I want to do the dishes?”
Even 20 years after that movie came out, the quote sticks because anyone who’s been married or in a close relationship has probably had a version of that conversation. And here’s the thing: it’s not really about the dishes. They stumbled into something profoundly spiritual.
Christianity has a bit of a reputation for being full of “no-fun rules.” To an outsider, and honestly, even to many Christians, it can seem strange to give 10% of your income to God, to miss out on Sunday morning beach time, or to love your enemies. From the outside, those things look like chores, like doing the dishes.
But here’s the difference: God doesn’t call us to do these things to ruin our fun or because He can’t handle it Himself. He calls us to them because through the act of doing, our hearts are shaped, and our love for Him is shown.
And our attitude makes all the difference. There’s a big gap between inviting someone to church because “that’s what I’m supposed to do” and inviting them because you genuinely want them to encounter God’s love. There’s a difference between giving to the church out of guilt and giving because you’re grateful for all that God has given you.
God doesn’t just want us to do the Christian life. He wants us to want to.
Because when obedience flows out of love, it stops feeling like a chore and starts feeling like worship.
M & M
We are now closer to the year 2050 than we are to the year 2000. If that doesn’t ruin your day, nothing will. But it has got me thinking about how different things are today than they were 25 years ago. And then I have to wonder—how different will things be in 2050?
I don’t think we’ll have flying cars or anything Back to the Future predicted. For all our advances, we’re still basically the same creatures—just with smartphones, larger TVs, and the ability to doomscroll in high definition.
In the grand scheme of the church, we’re also not that different from the early days. We still gather, sing songs, and talk about the Bible. Sure, the way we do each of those things would probably look a little ridiculous to a first-century Christian—but does that make it wrong?
There’s a framework some people use to evaluate church practices: it involves distinguishing between the message and the method. The idea is to ask whether these things should stay the same over time or adapt to the culture around them. That gives us four basic camps:
Those who believe the message and the method should stay the same
Those who believe the message should stay the same, but the method can change
Those who believe the message should change, but the method should stay the same
Those who believe both the message and the method should change
I realize this veers a bit more academic than your average blog post, but I bet as you read that list, two things happened. First, you nodded along with one option and thought, “Yeah, that sounds right.” And then you cringed at another and thought, “That’s borderline blasphemy.”
Like nearly everything in the Christian world, there are very smart, devout believers who hold firm convictions in each of these categories. Can I let you in on a little secret? Nobody’s entirely right—and yet, somehow, everyone’s kind of right. Call it church math. The same logic that makes the Trinity 1 + 1 + 1 = 1.
I say that with confidence because the view you think is heretical probably isn’t being taken to the extreme you assume. The person who wants to change the method might just mean using all the stops instead of just the reed stop on the organ. The person who says the message needs to adapt might mean emphasizing God’s love and justice for a time to speak to a culture burned out by shame and fear, not tossing the resurrection out the window.
As we inch toward 2050, the question isn’t whether we’ll still sing or preach or gather. The question is whether we’ll do it in ways that still bring people to Jesus.
We don’t have to pick a side between message and method, we just have to keep asking the right question:
What helps us love God and love people better?
That’s the kind of church ‘m glad to be a part of, one that can grow without losing its roots, one that can reach without letting go of the truth, and one that knows God isn’t afraid of change. After all, He’s the one who makes all things new.
Dirt
Our mission is unapologetically clear: to make disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation of the world. It’s a bold statement, and at first glance, it might sound like everything we do is confined to Sunday worship, small groups, and the walls of our sanctuary. But transformation—real transformation—often begins in the most unexpected places. Sometimes, it starts with a little dirt.
If you’ve taken the time to drive around the back of our church property lately, you’ve probably noticed something new taking shape. For years, that field behind the parking lot was little more than a forgotten space—unused, dusty, and full of prickly sand spurs. Occasionally, we’d host an Easter egg hunt or a game of kickball out there, but the fun was always cut short by cries of discomfort as the burrs embedded themselves in tiny feet. In many ways, it was a field full of missed potential.
That is, until last fall—during a stewardship series preached by Pastor David—something stirred.
Sitting in one of those services was a man who saw not just an empty lot, but an opportunity. What if that rough patch of land could become something more? What if it could serve our community, our church, and our mission all at the same time? And just like that, an idea was born: a youth soccer program right here on our property.
The benefits were immediately clear. First, there would be a complete transformation of the land itself. No more sand spurs. In their place—soft green grass, level fields, and open space designed for kids to play safely. Second, this project would bring a new stream of revenue to the church, turning an underutilized resource into a sustainable investment in our future. But those two things, as great as they are, weren’t even the most important outcomes.
Because then came the third benefit—the one we couldn’t have planned for.
During the soccer program’s very first season, a member of our church found herself chatting with parents on the sidelines. One of the moms shared how her community theater group had just lost their performance venue and was scrambling to find a new space for their next production. Without hesitation, our church member mentioned our sanctuary, which is equipped with lighting, sound, and plenty of seating—everything a small theater group would need.
A quick meeting later, and it was clear that this wasn’t just a rental opportunity—it was a partnership in the making. Plans quickly emerged to collaborate with our children's choir and Christmas musical. Ideas began flowing, and relationships started forming. Before any curtain had even risen, one of the families from the theater group started attending worship with us. Just by opening our doors—before a single performance or rehearsal—seeds were planted.
That’s the beauty of ministry. We often talk about building bridges to the community, about finding new ways to invite people onto our campus, hoping they might one day walk into a worship service. We pray that by simply showing hospitality, hearts might open. But even in our best strategic planning, we never imagined how quickly God would begin to move.
What started as a sermon about stewardship turned into a soccer field. That field turned into a mission hub. And now, that mission is expanding into the arts, community outreach, and new families becoming part of our story.
Because ministry doesn’t always begin with a pulpit. Sometimes, it starts with a patch of dirt.
Loaves and Fish
In chapel this past week, Christine shared the story of the feeding of the 5,000. For those that have been in church for any significant amount of time, you’ve probably heard this story a dozen times. It’s come to be so familiar to us that we have whittled away all the points of the story to focus on the main thing, Jesus preforming a miracle.
I’m not saying we’ve missed the point, but perhaps we’re just complacent with the rest that this story has to offer. When the disciples came to Jesus with a problem, lots of hungry people, Jesus didn’t immediately perform the miracle. He told the disciples, “You feed them.” It’s funny, this story is told in all four gospels, but only one of them mentions the little boy. In all of them though, the disciples reply back with we only have 5 loaves and two fish, so even in the retelling they take credit for this little boy being the only one smart enough to pack a lunch.
When there was a problem, before resorting to supernatural measures, Jesus told us that we are capable to solving the problem. I don’t think he was being flippant, I think he was just stating expectations. And the only person among the 5000 that took him seriously was a little boy with next to nothing to offer.
This past weekend, a small group of teenage boys put on a concert. Power Bomb raised almost $600 for the weekend food program. I’m reminded that in our community we have hundreds of kids, not including adults (a bit of a reversal from the biblical counting methods), that go hungry. Jesus’ reply to us would probably be the same, “you give them something to eat.” And just as it happened thousands of years ago, we just witnessed the youngest among us take the lead and do something to feed the masses.
How are the rest of us leaning in to Jesus’ command to feed the hungry? Luckily, there are two easy steps that you can take right now. The first is to join an amazing group of volunteers on Thursday nights as they pack food. The work isn’t difficult, it doesn’t a long time, and it is more fun than you would ever thing.
The second thing you can do is raise money for the program itself. You don’t have rot put on a full on rock concert to do that. Businesses often donate money to these programs for tax purposes, they just have to be asked. Shopping or volunteering at the thrift store provides funds that go to support this mission and the mission of the church.
As fun as it is would have been to be a witness to a kid’s lunch being multiplied into thousands of meals, I don’t think anyone that day was happier than the kid who offered up what he had and as a result a miracle occurred.